


New Life

by starlightwalking



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Deleted Scenes, Family Issues, Gen, Tolkien Gen Week 2018, tree symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 10:16:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13432599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: With his children growing older and more independent, Bard struggles to keep his family near him. Thankfully, Tilda is around to remind him of how far he's come.





	New Life

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic literally two years ago, right after the BotFA EE came out. I loved the deleted scene between Bilbo and Bard and had an idea right then. Originally it was going to be super depressing, but I decided I didn't like that idea and abandoned it. I'm glad I finally came back and finished it!  
> For Tolkien Gen Week Day 7: Free Choice.

Bard's refounded kingdom of Dale flourished; his people thrived. The city was nearly rebuilt in full, the crumbling walls and bloodstained earth overturned. His reign was cemented, and he was a strong ruler of a growing kingdom.

His son grew into a man while his daughters blossomed into women. Even little Tilda, small and innocent as she had once been, was an adolescent now with dreams and flighty aspirations of her own.

It was not easy, being both a king and a single father. Bard managed, but as Sigrid became more headstrong and Bain more distant, he often would find himself alone at the end of the day while Tilda tromped around the city with her friends.

The political situation in Dale was turbulent, but it always was. No one had seen Alfrid since the Battle of the Five Armies, but there were dozens of men just like him, scrambling for power in any way they could. Bard had to weed them out from the good ones, and pick his counselors wisely.

Just that morning, Bard had fired his head of security after he was caught embezzling from the royal treasury, and he now began the arduous task of finding someone to replace him. And on top of that, there was a band of ruffians wreaking havoc in the countryside outside Dale, attacking traders and farmers and envoys from the Woodland Realm.

He sat at a desk, sifting through papers with ink-stained hands. From time to time, a servant would run in and inform him of some other petty problem like a ruckus in the market, or that Bain had left the city to visit Erebor without asking permission. Bard had known that the crown of a king was heavy, but he hadn't expected so many of his problems to be so petty!

"Tell Bain that if he wishes to spend his days in the mountain, he may spend his nights camping outside the city until he wishes to learn respect for his father," he snapped to a servant. He winced, regretting the harsh punishment as soon as he delivered it, but didn't rescind it.

"Yes, milord," the servant said, bowing and scraping. "And, milord—ah, your daughter wishes to see you."

"Sigrid? She hasn't bothered to speak with me in weeks!" Bard grumbled. "Gallivanting with city boys and kissing maids in back alleys...she ought to at least have the decency to introduce me to her latest lover!"

The servant shook her head. "No, milord—your other daughter. Princess Tilda."

Bard blinked. He'd not thought of Tilda. She was the only one of his children who was still young enough to shower him in kisses and hang onto his every word—she was sweet-hearted and thoughtful even as an adolescent. Still, even she seemed too busy for him as she occupied herself with her various projects helping the misfortunate in the city or spending time with her friends.

"Oh," he said. "Send her in!"

"Yes, milord," the servant said. She left the room, and Bard returned to his paperwork.

He was interrupted as Tilda burst into the room a few minutes later. "Da!" she cried, wrapping her arms around his neck from behind.

Bard rose, laughing. He turned to embrace her fondly. "Tilda!" he said. "What brings you here? My office is not the place for...family time." Not that any other place seemed to be these days, either.

Tilda wriggled out of his grasp and picked up his stack of papers. "What are you doing?" She leafed through them. "Looking for a new head of security? Ooh, and what's this—a personal letter from King Thranduil?" She wiggled her eyebrows.

Bard sighed and snatched the letter away from her, stuffing it into his pocket. "That's official business, I'll have you know."

Tilda laughed and shuffled the papers back into a semblance of order and placed them back down on the desk. "I know, Da."

Bard sighed, rubbing his temples. "Some days I wish I did get more personal letters. Your siblings never talk to me anymore—Sigrid's too good for me, and Bain forgets to even ask permission to leave the city!"

Tilda sighed and placed a hand on his arm. "That's exactly why I'm here. I found something in the eastern courtyard I thought you might like to see."

"What is it?" Bard asked.

"I'll show you." Tilda turned and grabbed his hand, dragging him away. "Follow me!"

Bard smiled as he followed, letting the spring in her step pull him forward at a pace faster than was really necessary. Tilda still walked like a little girl, full of youth and energy.

They passed outside the royal quarters and into the city. Tilda waved to children in the street and stopped to chat with mothers buying fish and merchants selling grain. She gave coin to beggars and gratefully accepted flowers from little girls.

Bard was amazed at how well Tilda knew the people of Dale. Even as King, and formerly a member of this very community, he felt like he could only name a couple people that Tilda knew so well. He spent far too much time in his office, fretting and grumbling while life moved on outside.

"Here we are!" Tilda said at last, stopping in the eastern courtyard. Bard looked around, so far unimpressed. This place had borne the brunt of the attack four years previous, and was still mostly empty, with half-rebuilt walls and nothing but dirt on the ground. It was a place to go when someone wanted to be by themself, but didn't mind a bleak view.

"What am I looking for?" he asked.

Tilda took his hand. "This way." She led him to a spot near the west wall, where a small sapling poked its branches out of the broken ground.

"It's a baby tree," she said, stroking its leaves gently. "I've no idea how the seed got here—it's a miracle it grew at all."

Bard nodded. "It's nice," he said. "It's very—" Then he stopped.

He knew this tree. A faint memory stirred: years, ago, in the Battle of the Five Armies...

* * *

He'd nearly given up all hope of victory. Orcs and elves, dwarves and men—all fought around him. There was death, blood, pain everywhere. He was weary to the bone.

"I let myself imagine this city restored," he said bitterly, observing it in ruin. "We would take what had been destroyed and rebuild it. We would wash away this sadness. And the streets would once again be filled with life." He sighed. "Full of hope." But it would not happen now.

Mithrandir said nothing. He couldn't prove Bard wrong; and why did it matter to him? He'd survive, and live to start another war another day.

"No!" a firm voice said. "No, no, no."

It was the halfling, Bilbo Baggins. Bard looked down, staring at him as he got to his feet in protest. "Come now! Don't despair."

"What would you have us do?" Bard demanded of the halfling. There was nothing to be done, they would all die here in this broken courtyard, perishing like his ancestor Girion before him.

"Do?" Bilbo squinted. "Do?" He thought for a moment, then said, "Here—here, I'll show you."

The halfling walked over to the wall and began to dig in the ground with his hands. Bard stared at him in shock.

"Bilbo!" he exclaimed. What on earth was he doing at a time like this?

Bilbo pulled something small from his pocket. He showed it to Bard: it was an acorn.

"What...is that?" Bard asked, thrown. Why did he have an acorn with him?

Bilbo placed the acorn in the overturned earth and patted dirt back over it. "It's a promise," he said at last. "Beneath all that blood and dirt, there's a chance for new life."

Bard watched, and a small fire of hope kindled in his chest. Bilbo continued: "It may sound hopeless, it may sound foolish, but really—what else can you do when faced with death?" He smiled half-heartedly. "What can anyone do? You go on living."

* * *

_It's a promise. Beneath all that blood and dirt..._

"There's a chance for new life," Bard murmured. They had gone on living. They'd won the battle, defeated the orcs. And now the life had blossomed, and Bard's vision of a new Dale was a reality. The tree had grown.

"I thought you might like to see something good," Tilda said, still holding his hand. "It's been rough for you lately. Sigrid and Bain, they're...they're getting older, and they don't like how you're trying to control them still. But it'll be alright. Even the tree knows it."

Bard sighed. "Is that really why they're not...?" he asked.

Tilda nodded. She squeezed his hand. "You should talk to them. Personally invite them to dinner sometime. Talk it out. They still love you, Da." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "I love you."

Bard smiled, first at the tree, then at his daughter. "I love you too, Tilda," he said. He embraced her. "Thank you. I'll do that, and then—I think you're right. It'll be alright."

 _What can anyone do?_  the halfling had said. And Bard knew he'd been right:  _You go on living._

**Author's Note:**

> This scene can be found on YouTube [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r0UxFygbZB0), and I have a [gifset](http://starlightwalking.tumblr.com/post/134231692417/thorinsoakenshields-what-would-you-have-us-do) on my tumblr that I referenced.


End file.
